


How Bright We Shine

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [5]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, Violence, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone was happy to find out that big, bad Frank Grayson took it up the arse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Bright We Shine

**Author's Note:**

> Forewarning for this story: Rufeepeach and I were discussing Frank's backstory and character, and this is the result. People who are bullies or are abusive, often come from homes where they are bullied or abused. And the more we discussed it, the more sense it made for Grayson to be building himself up, so he didn't become a victim again. And then, this all happened, and it isn't nice, but I have a feeling it also isn't uncommon.

Stephen drummed his pencil on the desk, staring out the window.

Alfie had tried to make him pay attention, but he was too caught up in replaying every bit of his weekend over in his head. West Ham were playing, and - of course - Frankie had tickets for them, so they were just going to go to the game, then come home.

Then Frankie had surprised him with a hotel in London and a show. He’d even picked Wicked, Stephen’s most absolute fave, and sat through it like he was enjoying it. When they shagged that night, it was the best night Stephen could remember having ever.

So, yeah, the history of the first world war, even with class wars wasn’t even coming close.

Alfie had shoved him up on a desk and stuck a helmet on him and declared him a statue of the Kaiser.

He didn’t know how he got through most of the day.

Probably Chantelle steering him.

It wasn’t until after lunch that he realised he hadn’t heard from Frankie, which was weird. They usually ran into each other in the halls. Sometimes, if they were lucky and Stephen was feeling like rule-breaking, they would have a quickie in the loos.

He checked his phone, but there were no messages.

He even went as far as hunting down Frankie’s friends. They looked at him in alarm when he approached, and he knew that was because Frankie’d kicked their arses more than once when they’d mocked him for making out with the school’s most famous fag.

“All right?”

“Grayson ain’t here.”

Stephen waved a hand. “I know that, babes,” he said. “I was wondering if he was just skiving.”

They exchanged looks.

“You didn’t ’ear?”

Stephen felt suddenly sick. “Hear what?” They looked at each other again, like they didn’t want to be the ones to tell him bad news. “Don’t just look at each other! Tell me!”

“Grayson’s in the ’ospital.”

Stephen stared at them, as if they were speaking a different language. “Hospital?”

They exchanged those looks again. “Someone gave him a kicking.”

Stephen felt like his legs were shaking under him. He wasn’t going to faint. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of that. Instead, he turned and walked away as fast as he could. As soon as he turned a corner, he clasped a hand over his mouth, feeling sick.

“Stephen? Babes?” Chantelle was skipping down the stairs. “What’s happened?”

He looked up at her, and god, his eyes were all wet and he couldn’t see straight. “I gotta get to the hospital,” he said, his voice cracking all over. “Frankie’s hurt.”

Chantelle hugged him tightly “You stay here,” she said. “I’ll get Alfie, all right?”

He nodded, sinking down to sit against the bottom of the wall. 

What kind of boyfriend was he, if he didn’t know his boyfriend was in trouble?

Five minutes later, Alfie was there, and Chantelle was kneeling by Stephen, her arms around him.

“Um… Chantelle says Grayson’s in hospital?”

Stephen nodded, his tie twisted so tight around his hand that his fingers were getting cold. “Can you take me there?” he whispered. “I-I want to be there. See if he’s all right.”

“I can’t really leave the class…”

“Don’t worry, Alfie.” Jing. Jing was there too. “I’ll cover for you. Stephen needs to go to the hospital.”

Alfie hesitated. “Can I borrow a tenner?” he asked. Stephen couldn’t see who he was asking, and didn’t really care. “Dad’s got the car today, and we’ll need to take a taxi.”

“Here.”

Joe too?

Stephen lifted his head. Everyone was there except Rem Dog, and he was probably trapped in the lift again.

Alfie helped Stephen to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and see that thug of yours.”

Stephen nodded, leaning on him unsteadily. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered. “I know you don’t like him.”

“We-ell,” Alfie grimaced, “that’s a mild way of putting it.” He pulled out his phone, calling for a taxi as he took Stephen out through the front doors. “But you’re one of my boys, and I look after my boys. You do know that, right?”

Stephen wiped his cheek with a shaking hand. “Yeah, sir.” He looked up at Alfie, who was frowning in concentration as he dialled. “Sir, what if it’s bad?”

“Bad?” Alfie looked at him.

“You know…” Stephen swallowed hard, trying to say it. “Really bad?”

Alfie looked panicked. “They would have told us, I think,” he said hastily. “If anyone is seriously hurt, they’ll send in counsellors and shit.” He gave Stephen’s shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I bet he just picked a fight with someone over a bag of chips.”

It was stupid how comforting it was to hear that.

Stephen wiped his face with both hands. He could have straightened up, but it felt better leaning against Alfie than trying to pretend he was okay. He wouldn’t be until he saw that Frankie was all right as well. Then he could feel like a stupid soft wanker for crying on a teacher.

He didn’t say anything on the taxi ride, even though Alfie was babbling enough for the both of them. He was going on about Grayson maybe not being such a twat, but Stephen didn’t have the heart to tell him that sometimes Grayson being a twat was what he liked best.

When they got to the hospital, Alfie was actually useful. 

He asked for directions, he got the ward number, he even walked Stephen all the way there.

“I’ll just… wait out here,” he said when they reached the room. He put his head to one side. “You’re going to be all right?”

Stephen nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he said, lying through his teeth. 

Frankie was in a private room, just his name on the door, no one else’s. That wasn’t a good thing, if he had to be kept on his own.

Alfie hurried away, and Stephen took a nervous breath, then walked up to the door, opening it carefully. It didn’t make a sound, and he crept into the room. Part of him hoped Frankie was asleep, but he wasn’t He was lying in the bed, looking as small and helpless as Stephen had ever seen him. His face was hardly recognisable, and he had a drip in his hand, and god, he looked like someone had run him over with an articulated lorry.

His eyes were so swollen that he was squinting, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Stephen walked unsteadily to the side of the bed. “I was worried,” he said, his voice trembling. “You weren’t at school, and they said you were here.” He hesitated, then touched Frankie’s hand. “What happened, babes?”

“Don’t matter,” Frank whispered. He pulled his hand away. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Stephen asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You’re hurt. Did you think I wouldn’t visit?”

Frankie pressed his head back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “No,” he said, his voice choked. “But you should go.” He turned his head away. “Go on. Piss off.”

Stephen shook his head. He could feel his eyes welling up, but he said fiercely, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to help you, Frankie. I’m not leaving.”

Frankie’s lips trembled, and he didn’t look at Stephen. There were tears in his eyes. Shit shit shit. Frankie was crying. He was actually crying. “Just… go, would ya?” he whispered, his fingers sunk into the sheets around him. “Fuck off. Leave me alone.”

Stephen scooted up the bed, and as carefully as he could, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Frankie. Frankie whimpered, not in pain, but something worse. It was like he was scared, and that made Stephen hug him even more, even when Frankie shook his head and was almost sobbing.

He was shaking in Stephen’s arms, and his hands came up and clung to Stephen’s back, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. 

“You gotta go,” he whispered. 

Stephen leaned back enough to look him in the face, gently stroking the tears from his cheeks. “Why, babes?” he whispered back, his eyes own eyes welling over at the state of Frankie’s face. “You’re going to be all right?”

Frankie nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Coupla cracked ribs,” he said hoarsely. “Busted face.” He brought one of his back round and pushed Stephen’s hand away, wiping at his face with trembling fingers. He tried to sound hard when he whispered, “Ain’t meant to be cryin’ like a fuckin’ girl.”

Stephen swallowed down his own sob. “You’re not crying like a girl,” he said, tugging his shirt sleeve out of his cuff and wiping Frank’s cheek. “No mascara.”

Frankie almost laughed, then winced, arching back against the pillows. “Christ.”

Stephen sat back in alarm. “D’you want me to get a nurse?”

Frankie’s fingers were dug into the blankets again. “Nah,” he whispered. “Don’t like ‘em makin’ a fuss.”

Stephen touched the back of his closest hand as gently as he could. “What happened?”

Frankie didn’t look at him. “Got in a fight, didn’t I?”

“D’you know who did it?”

Frankie turned his face away. It hard to see his expression, his face was so bruised up. “Yeah.”

“So are the police…”

Frankie’s head jerked around so fast he hissed in pain. “I ain’t a fuckin’ grass,” he snarled.

Stephen held up his hands. “Didn’t say you were, babes,” he said. He hesitated, then said quietly, “but whoever it was put you in the hospital. That’s not right.”

Frank covered his face with his hands. “Just leave it, right?” he said, lowering his hands. “It’s done now. Cryin’ ain’t gonna undo it.” He breathed in slowly, then out. “You gotta go. I can’t see you no more.”

Stephen blinked in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you, that’s why!” Frank snapped, then winced, one hand pressing to his ribs. “Jesus, why can’t you just piss off? S’for your own good. Better for both of us.”

Stephen felt sick to his stomach. “Is that what this is about?” he asked in a small voice, reaching out for Frank’s hand. “Someone did this to you because… because of us?”

Frankie didn’t say anything, but his hands tensed under Stephen’s.

“Frankie… Frank…”

“I told you to piss off,” Frankie whispered. His lips were trembling. “Better for everyone.”

Stephen knew he was crying, but he didn’t give a shit. “Not for you,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’ll be on your own.”

Frank drew a shrill breath between his teeth. “Yeah. Well. Used to that.”

“Frank!”

“Piss off!” Frank turned his face away. “Can’t I get some fuckin’ peace an’ quiet?”

Stephen wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be all right, but how could it be? Some bastard had put Frank in hospital for being with him. How could anything be all right after that? No wonder Frank couldn’t look at him. 

“This isn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “Whoever did this is a homophobic prick who needs to have their arse kicked.”

Frankie made a small, painful sound, not looking at him. “Please. Just get out.”

Stephen swallowed down a sob. “Well,” he said, patting Frank chastely on the arm. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” His breath hitched and he turned and fled from the room before he could turn into a sobbing ball of snot and tears.

He crashed straight into Alfie in the hall.

Alfie wasn’t exactly Captain Perceptive, but he took one look at Stephen’s face and hugged him as if he was Stephen’s big brother. Stephen buried his face in his shoulder and sobbed.

 

___________________________________________

 

Alfie wasn't really what he would call a 'people person'. Especially not when it came to Frank Grayson. 

Too many years of having his lunch money nicked and his shoes stolen and tossed on the roof.

But Alfie liked his class, and he knew they liked him, even if they knew he wasn't a very good teacher. He looked out for them and they looked out for him, so when Stephen came running out of the wards, crying his eyes out, Alfie knew he had to man up.

He sent Stephen down to the cafeteria to have a cup of tea and biscuit, then nervously went back up to the ward. The only reassurance he had was that Grayson was stuck in a bed, and no one was around to see him getting picked on by someone who couldn't even stand up.

He had enough of that from Rem Dogg.

He wiped his hands on his trousers, his palms all sweaty and disgusting, then gingerly opened the door. 

Grayson was lying in the bed, his face turned away from the door. "Told you to sod off," he whispered. 

He didn't sound anything like himself.

He sounded like he was crying.

Alfie swallowed hard. He could remember the last time he'd heard that tone in Grayson's voice: after Pickwell, when Grayson had clung to him like a kid. If he was upset enough to cry, then he was a tiny bit less scary.

"It's, er, not Stephen."

Grayson was silent for long enough that Alfie hoped it was technically sort of an invitation not to leave. He edged into the room and shut the door behind him. 

"What'd'you want?" Grayson muttered, not looking at him.

"Stephen was upset," he said carefully. "I wanted to find out why."

"So you can give him a shoulder to cry on?" There was a weariness in Grayson's voice Alfie hadn't heard before. "You ain't his type."

"You know that's not why," Alfie said, hooking his thumbs through the loops for his belt, to stop him twisting his hands together. "I-I know you were seeing each other and you like him more than this."

Grayson turned his head slowly to look at him. Alfie recoiled, shocked. Someone had beaten him so much that his face was hardly even recognisable as one. "You know that, do ya?" he whispered through swollen lips. "You know big old Grayson is a fuckin' poof?"

"I never said that," Alfie said, his mouth bone-dry. "You know Stephen cares about you."

Grayson looked at him, as much as he could through eyes that were swollen to slits. "He's a fuckin' twat," he said quietly.

"Yes, well, you're not exactly Mister Popularity yourself, are you?" Alfie said, then winced. Shouting at someone who was in hospital wasn't exactly nice, was it? Even if that person was Frank "give it me" Grayson. He pressed his hands to his trousers again, his palms damp. "Look, Grayson, I don't like you, and you don't like me."

"Y'got that right," Grayson whispered, looking away. "Wanker."

"But we both care about Stephen."

Grayson's fingers were curling into the sheets over his body. "And?"

"And? He was crying when he left."

Grayson looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah. I know. Ain't gonna make things better if he's here."

"Why not?" Alfie asked, confused. "Wouldn't it be better having someone to keep you company?"

Grayson was silent for a moment. "Don't want him gettin' in trouble," he said.

"Trouble?" Alfie frowned. "What kind of trouble could he get in, in here?" He paused, looking at the boy in the bed in front of him. "I mean, apart from being in your company, because as trouble goes, that's quite a lot."

Grayson made a small, tight noise that almost sounded like a laugh, if it hadn't been so angry. "You got no fuckin' clue." He struggled to lean up on his arms and the collar of his hospital gown slipped, showing bandages all the way up to his shoulders. "You want him out of trouble? Tell him if he's gotta come another day, he comes with other people. Ain't havin' him here on his own."

It made sense, Alfie supposed.

If Grayson was going back to his old habits, there would be safety in numbers. 

"So you... don't want him not to visit?"

"D'you even speak English, you tosspot?" Grayson snarled. He fell back against the pillows, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. He pressed his hand to his ribs. "He can visit, yeah? Just not on his own. Don't want him on his own."

Alfie stepped back nervously. "I'll tell him," he said. He watched Grayson for a moment, the way he was clutching at his ribs and gasping for breath. "Um. Do you need anything? I mean, painkillers or... or something?"

Grayson rolled his head to glower at him. "What? You offerin' to buy me drugs now?" He looked away, drawing gulping breaths. "Nah. Piss off."

Alfie gratefully headed for the door.

"Oi. Downton."

Alfie winced, freezing, his hand on the doorknob. It was too much to hope he'd escape with his dignity intact.

"Yes..." He cleared his throat and attempted a more manly voice. "Yes, Grayson?"

Grayson's voice was unexpectedly quiet and serious. "Look out for him, yeah? He ain't as tough as he thinks he is."

Alfie looked back. Grayson wasn't looking at him. "He's one of my class," he said.

"Yeah," Grayson breathed, his swollen eyes closed. "But he's not a tosser like you."

Alfie made a face. "Well," he said, turning the door handle. "This has been nice, hasn't it?" He paused. "Get better soon, Grayson. I mean, I hope you get better."

Grayson turned his face away, his voice sinking to a whisper. "Fuck off."

Alfie ducked out the door, closing it behind him. It was only once he was outside that he leaned against the wall, his knees shaking like jelly. He didn't know how a boy that age could still intimidate him, without even trying, but he wasn't planning on finding out.

He got back to the cafeteria fifteen minutes later, after some specific directions from a nurse and a hilarious mix-up in the gastronenterology department.

Stephen was sitting silently by a window, staring down into his tea.

"All right?"

Stephen looked up, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He'd got a biscuit, but it looked like he'd just spent half an hour breaking it into pieces. "Did he say anything, sir?"

Alfie nodded. "He said you can visit another day," he said, picking up the biggest bit of Stephen's biscuit, "but he wants you to bring people with you."

Stephen stared at him, frowning. "Why?"

"God knows," Alfie replied with a wave of his hand. "He's Grayson. He tells you what to do and you do it."

"S'pose," Stephen said quietly. He pushed his cup away. "Can you take me home, sir?"

Alfie nodded at once. "Of course," he said, getting up.

Stephen didn't say a word the whole way home.

 

 

______________________________________________________________

 

Chantelle knew how to be a BFF.

A BFF would tell you when to stand by your man or when to dump the arsehole.

Part of her wanted Stephen to dump Grayson's sorry arse and tell him he could do better, but then she remembered how stupid and soft and happy Grayson made him, and she knew she couldn't make him give that up. Specially not when Grayson was just as soft on Stephen.

If Grayson had been an arse to Stephen, then it would be different, but Grayson treated him nice. He liked him. Not just because he was pretty. He knew stuff Stephen liked and he went to things Stephen did just because it made them both happy.

Grayson was a lot better than a lot of the boyfriends Chantelle had shagged and dumped.

Still, he'd left Stephen a mess.

She was waiting for him at home when Alfie brought him back from the hospital, and Stephen had taken one look at her before bursting into tears.

He'd tried to explain, but his words were all over the place, and all she could make out was that Grayson didn't want him there on his own. Probably giving him too many ideas in a private room with no one checking on them. She suggested that, but Stephen shook his head, crying again. 

It wasn't about them shagging, he told her. Grayson was in hospital because someone had found out about them. Some dick didn't think Grayson should shag boys, so they'd put him in hospital. If he wanted other people there, it was because he didn't want to be on his own, but he didn't want them to be them anymore. 

Chantelle didn't know what to say.

It wasn't like she hadn't been called slapper and slag more times than she could count. But no one had ever tried to smack her for who she wanted to shag. Except that one time with Sonya Howard, because he was the stupid cow’s ex. 

And she knew Stephen would blame himself, even if he didn't want to, because he wasn't the one in hospital. Because he'd shagged Grayson, Grayson was in hospital, and no words would change that for him.

Still, least she could do was go to the hospital with him, because even if Grayson dumped him, Stephen would still go there every day until Grayson was let out, just to make sure he was better.

The first time was weird as anything.

Stephen sat on the chair by the bed, squeezing his hands between his knees, and Grayson stared at the ceiling, and they just talked shit about West Ham and Millwall. Anyone with eyes could see they wanted to be touching each other, but they just sat there, like they was on different sides of the room.

The second time wasn't so bad.

Grayson looked at her instead and told her she had nice tits.

Stephen got up and smacked him on the arm, and Grayson caught his hand. Stephen spent the rest of the visit sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Grayson's hand, and Grayson looked at Stephen like he was the best thing he'd ever seen. 

Chantelle just sat and read her copy of Heat and pretended like she wasn't there. 

The third time, something weren’t right.

Grayson was sitting up in the bed, and was in a West Ham top and boxers instead of the nightie they’d put him in before. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone in his hand, when they arrived.

“All right, babes?” Stephen skipped around the bed and sat down beside him.

Chantelle waited in the doorway and saw the way Grayson looked at Stephen, like he wanted to kiss him silly. She’d’ve given anything to have someone look at her like that.

“C’n’you do something for me?” Grayson asked.

“Anything you like, Frankie,” Stephen said warmly, squeezing Grayson’s thigh. “What do you need?”

Grayson covered Stephen’s hand with his, then leaned closer and whispered something to him.

Stephen drew back, frowning. “You sure you’re allowed them in here?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Grayson replied. He pushed himself back onto the bed, wincing. He glanced over at Chantelle. There was something funny about the look on his face. “You can leave your bird here.”

Stephen could see it an’ all. He squeezed Grayson’s knee, then looked over. “How about it, babes? Can you look after him for me?”

Chantelle pushed off from the wall. “He keeps his hands to himself, and we’re sorted.”

Grayson looked her up and down. “I think I can keep my dick in my pants, ta.”

“Oi!” Chantelle exclaimed, folding her arms. “I’m a catch!”

“S’what it says in the lavs,” Grayson retorted, but it didn’t sound like him at all. He was leaning back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his face tight with pain. Stephen leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead gently. “That it?” Grayson demanded, opening one swollen eye.

Stephen looked at him in surprise. “We have an audience.”

Grayson reached up behind his head. “Like we didn’t first time,” he said, and pulled Stephen’s mouth down on his.

Chantelle wasn’t soft, but something about the way Stephen leaned into Grayson, like he trusted him to catch him if he fell, made her feel all mushy right down to her toes. She clasped her hands together in front of her mouth, smothering a squeak of happiness for them.

Grayson pulled back, and lifted his hand from Stephen’s hair. “Go on,” he said, his voice softer than it usually was. “Piss off and make yourself useful.”

“Gimme fifteen minutes,” Stephen said, and raced out of the room.

Grayson sagged back against the bed, clenching his teeth.

Chantelle walked a bit closer to the bed. “You all right?”

Grayson looked at her. “Do I fucking look all right?”

She held up her hands. “Ain’t my problem, babe,” she said, “just asking.”

He pressed his hand to his side. He was quiet for a long time, then said, “You’re his best mate, yeah?”

“Obv,” Chantelle snorted. “No one else’d come here with him.”

Grayson nodded slowly. “I need…” He hesitated, like he was trying to say something bad. “I need you to do somethin’ for me.”

“If this is some stupid game…”

Grayson shook his head, looking towards the open door. Someone was coming along the hall. Two someone’s from the sound of it. Grayson looked back at her. He was always calm, except when he was angry, but right now, he didn’t look either. “Please,” he said, patting the bed beside him. “I need you to do somethin’.”

She reluctantly sat down. “What?”

To her shock, he grabbed her and kissed her. She was too surprised to shove him back, and it wasn’t like it hadn’t been on her list to snog bid bad Frank Grayson at some point. Just not when he was seeing her BFF for life.

It wasn’t even like it was a proper kiss, all closed mouth and no tongue, and Grayson had grabbed her hand and was holding it tightly, like a warning.

“Oh my god!” A woman’s voice made her jerk back and turn to see a blonde woman standing in the doorway, a man behind her. “Oh, sorry, love! We didn’t know we’d be interrupting anything.”

Chantelle blinked at her, then looked back at Grayson, who avoided her eyes. 

“All right, mum?”

Mum?

Grayson had a mum?

A mum who was all pretty and thin and dressed up nice like a Barbie?

“Who’s this?” The man stepped into the room beside the woman, putting his arm around her shoulder. She looked up at him with eyes as green as Grayson’s. Didn’t take a genius to see Grayson in his dad. They looked almost the same, only his dad looked older and fatter with pale blue eyes.

“S’my girlfriend, innit?” Grayson said. His hand tightened on hers again. Chantelle looked back at him and he met her eyes, and she swallowed hard. She didn’t have any idea what was happening, but Grayson looked like he’d squeeze her hand even harder if she didn’t play along.

She turned back with her best smile. “All right, Mr and Mrs Grayson? Frankie’s told me so much about you.” She hopped down off the bed, and pulled her arm free. To her surprise, Grayson let her go without even trying to hold on. “D’you want me to head off, Frankie, babe?”

“Nah.” Grayson’s voice was flat. “Mum’s been dyin’ to meet my girlfriend, ain’t you, mum?”

“Your dad too,” Mrs Grayson said. 

Grayson’s dad looked her up and down. “Bit of all right, in’t she?” he said with a smile that she’d never seen on Grayson’s face. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Chantelle,” she replied, trying her best to keep in smile on her face. She skipped back around to sit on the other side of the bed, sitting up beside Grayson, who looked at her from the corner of his eyes. If he wanted her to pretend to be his bloody girlfriend, she was going to pretend to be the best fake girlfriend anyone could have. She snuggled up against his side, putting her head on his shoulder. “Frankie didn’t say you’d be comin’.”

“We’ve been busy,” Mrs Grayson said with a quick look at her husband. 

Grayson looked at her, then up at his dad. “S’all right,” he said. “Chantelle’s been visitin’ me. Takin’ proper care of me, ain’t you, babe?”

Chantelle watched as Mrs Grayson came over and sat down by the bed. She was moving slowly and carefully, just like Grayson did himself, when he was trying to sit back on the bed. Chantelle knew she wasn’t bright, but she could tell when something weren’t right. 

“You all right, Mrs G?”

Mrs Grayson smiled and nodded, but it was a bit too big a smile and a bit too hard a nod. “Tried bloody pilates, didn’t I? Got stuck with my arse in the air.”

Grayson snorted quietly.

“So, Chantelle,” Mr Grayson said, coming to stand behind his wife, his hands on her shoulders. “How long have you and Frank been seein’ each other.”

She didn’t even look at Grayson. “Since Christmas,” she said. “We was in the school play together. He came to do it cos he fancied me.” She beamed, as if she was Stephen, and then looked at Grayson. “He’s been good to me.”

Hidden down beside her, his fingers caught hers.

He wasn’t trying to warn her, she realised. He needed help.

She looked down at their hands, then back at Grayson’s face. He was looking at his parents. No. He was looking at his mum.

“So did they catch the ones what done this?” Chantelle asked, looking at them as well. 

“Must have just been some drunk bastards on the scheme,” Mr Grayson said.

“Yeah,” Grayson said darkly. “I thought mum might’ve seen them when she found me.”

“I wasn’t there in time,” Mrs Grayson said. “I didn’t see nothin’.”

If she hadn’t been watching for it, Chantelle wouldn’t have seen the way Mrs Grayson looked down at her hands, or the way her husband’s grip on her shoulders tightened. Jesus. No wonder Grayson wasn’t saying anything to anyone about what happened.

“Bet you’re pissed, Mr Grayson,” she said, looking at his dad. “Someone doin’ this to your son.”

His dad shook his head, like he was disappointed. “Should’ve been more of a man, Frank. Didn’t I tell you you was too soft?”

“I ain’t soft,” Frank growled. “Some people ain’t worth my time.”

“Frank…” His mum sighed. “Be nice to your dad. In front of your girlfriend an’ all.”

Grayson put his arm around Chantelle’s waist. She could see from the look on his face that it was hurting, but he still done it. “I know how to look after my girl,” he said.

“So long as that’s all you’re lookin’ after.”

Chantelle could feel Grayson’s hand curling up in a fist against her side. “Like I’d leave him time for anything else,” she said, propping her chin on his shoulder. “Ain’t that right, babes?”

“Too fuckin’ right,” he said, looking at her. He looked grateful, and she wanted to hug him even more. He nodded towards the door. “Don’t you got your zumba thing?”

“I could stay, babes,” she said seriously. She winked at his dad. “Anything for my Frankie.”

He shook his head. “You got someone waiting,” he said. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

That was when she noticed the sound of footsteps in the hall. She didn’t wanna know how he knew it was Stephen, but if Stephen came back in here, when Mr Grayson was still around, the shit would hit the fan.

“Tomorrow, then, babes?”

He nodded, and she leaned down and kissed him like she meant it. 

She wasn’t even out the door when she heard his dad say, “So you ain’t bent, then?”

“Fuck you,” Grayson replied, his voice rough.

“Francis!”

Chantelle turned out of the room, yanking the door shut as hard as she could.

Stephen was only three doors away and looked at her in surprise. He was tossing a packet of fags from one hand to the other. “Don’t tell me he scared you off, babes?”

Chantelle shook her head. “You can’t go in there,” she said, hurrying towards him. She caught his hands. “We gotta go. Now.”

“But Frankie…”

“Babes, trust me, yeah?”

Stephen searched her face. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Chantelle nodded grimly. “I know,” she said. “And you ain’t gonna be happy.”

 

_________________________________________________

 

Frank hated fucking hospitals.

Hated them.

He could remember the first time he saw the inside of one when he was eight. That was the time his mum said he’d tripped and fallen down the stairs. He didn’t say anything, because he thought his mum knew what she was doing. She didn’t.

Wasn’t til he was ten that he realised things weren’t gonna get any better neither.

He hated fucking hospitals and the fucking smell and the machines beeping like someone was just waiting to fucking die, but he didn’t want to go home. Didn’t have a choice about that, though, did he? Did he hell. If he didn’t go home, his mum was on her own, and that was bollocks. She couldn’t take care of him. How the fuck was she meant to take care of herself?

They’d come to visit.

Took them four fucking days to even show up, and the minute he saw his mum’s face he knew why.

If there was a mark, she wouldn’t go out of the house until she could hide it.

The fucking cunt must have hit her when she tried to stop him.

He hated fucking hospitals. He hated being stuck there, fucking useless to everyone. He hated people looking at him like he was a fucking victim.

The nurses weren’t trying that so much now. They checked him and went away and that was all right, but it still pissed him off that people at school would think he was a fucking nonce for getting the shit kicked out of him.

The day after his mum and dad came, the nurse got him to get out of his footie top and unbandaged him to check on his ribs, and he curled up his fists on his thighs. He wanted to hit someone. Something. All he was doing was sitting around and it felt fucking shit.

“Oh god.”

Frank’s head jerked up.

Stephen was standing in the doorway, staring at his chest.

Frank knew he looked crap. He was bruised all over. Even had the shape of a fucking bootprint clear as fuckin’ day on one side of his ribs. Wasn’t the first time he’d been hit, but usually, it wasn’t deliberate, not at first anyways.

“Excuse me,” the nurse said, “if you don’t mind giving us a few minutes.”

Stephen was staring at him like he was at death’s fucking door. “I’m staying,” he said, fierce as fuck. 

“You can’t…”

Stephen stalked towards the bed, looking furious and fucking mental. “You tell me to get away from my boyfriend again, and I’ll put in a formal complaint, yeah?”

The nurse looked at Frank, but Frank couldn’t give a shit, because Stephen looked fucking fierce when he was pissed.

“Wanker,” he muttered.

“You live in hope,” Stephen retorted. He hesitated, then held out his hand, and Frank took it without even thinking. It wasn’t all fucking rainbows and sunshine, but it made him feel better, squeezing Stephen’s hand when the bitch of a nurse re-wrapped his ribs.

“You should be able to move around now,” the nurse said. “Just don’t exert yourself.” 

“She means shagging,” Stephen said. “Don’t worry, babes. I was only gonna give him a blow, if he wanted.”

Frank couldn’t help snorting at the look on the nurse’s face. Fucking prude. “Piss off, you poof.”

Stephen ran his fingers lightly down the back of Frank’s neck. “Like that’ll work,” he said. 

The nurse gathered up her stuff. “You could be ready for discharge this afternoon, if the doctor okays it,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Great,” Frank muttered. “Somethin’ to look forward to.”

Stephen snickered. He waited until the nurse left, then produced a packet of fags out of his pocket, the ones Frank had sent him for the day before. “You want to go for a fag?”

“Fuck yeah.” Frank slipped off the bed, wincing as he got up. “Christ, she must be some kind of fucking dominatrix.”

“You wish, babes,” Stephen said, slipping his arm through Frank’s.

The halls of the hospital were quiet.

“Ain’t you meant to be in school?”

Stephen shrugged. “Thought your dad would be at work now, so it was better to visit.”

Frank nodded. “Chantelle?” he guessed.

“She thought you might want me to know,” Stephen said.

Frank nodded. He’d wanted to tell him so fucking badly, but how the fuck were you meant to tell your fucking boyfriend that your old man would beat the shit out of you because he thought you were bent? He’d met Stephen’s mum and dad and they would have fucking killed anyone who looked at Stephen sideways. He didn’t know how to tell someone with a family like that.

Stephen was quiet until they were outside. There was a smoking booth, and he pulled out the fags and the lighter. Frank took them gratefully, lighting up and inhaling as deep as his ribs would let him. 

“If you want me to get lost,” Stephen said quietly, “so he won’t hurt you again…”

Frank choked, coughing. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Your dad. When you told me to stay out of the way. So you don’t make him angry again.”

“This ain’t about me, you tosspot!” Frank exclaimed indignantly. “You think I care if he fucking hits me again? He can hit me all he fucking likes! I don’t give a shit about that!”

Stephen recoiled, horrified. “What?”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Frank repeated savagely. “I told you to piss off, because he said he’d find out who turned me into a fucking bender and fucking kill him, you arsehole!”

Stephen stared at him. 

Then he walked the three steps between them, took Frank’s face in his hands and kissed him until Frank felt light as a fucking feather, and his mouth tasted of Stephen and smoke and spearmint gum. 

“You’re an idiot, Frankie,” Stephen whispered against his lips.

“Must be,” Frank muttered, holding onto his arm to stop from falling. “Love you, don’t I?”

Stephen wrapped his arms around Frank as gently as he could. “Never told me before.”

Frank took another drag of the ciggie. Fucking bad idea. He winced when he coughed, then flicked it away. “Yeah. Well. S’not a big deal.” He was leaning on Stephen more than he wanted to, and lifted his hand to cradle the back of Stephen’s head. “I’m not gonna let that fucking cunt hurt you.”

“And I’m just meant to walk away and pretend that I don’t know what he did? Stephen said quietly, his hands moving in gentle circles on Frank’s back. “What he threatened to do to me?” He shook his head. “Ain’t happening, babes. We’re in this together.”

They were kissing then, just like that.

Nothing big or grabby or rough. Just mouth on mouth. Slow and gentle-like.

“Why, you silly bastard?” Frank whispered, when Stephen drew back, stroking his cheek.

“Might love you too,” Stephen said quietly. 

Frank was swaying. Wasn’t just cos of the words, neither. He felt light-headed.

Stephen looked at him, worried. “C’mon. We need to get you back to your bed before you fall on your arse.”

It took longer to get back, and Frank had never been more grateful to have soft pillows. He patted the bed beside him mutely, and Stephen climbed up without so much as blinking. Wasn’t a big bed, but it was enough for Stephen to curl up beside him.

“Stay with me?” Frank asked quietly. “Just a bit?”

Stephen kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, babes,” he promised. “And if your dad even thinks of trying to kick me out, he can go and swivel.” He lifted his head, frowning. “Unless you want me out the way. I don’t wanna get you in more trouble.”

Frank looked at him. His dad would be fucking pissed, but he didn’t care anymore. He’d cared far too fucking long, and it hadn’t got him anywhere except put in fucking hospital. The only fucking person he cared about was right beside him. The only person who gave a shit about him and wanted to protect him wasn’t his fucking mum.

“Don’t you fucking think about pissing off,” he growled, tightening his arm around Stephen.

Stephen’s face lit up, and Frank held him as close as he could.

What kind of fucking mong was he, if he kicked out the only person who gave a shit about him?

“You could come and stay with us,” Stephen said quietly, against his chest. “We’ve got a spare room, if you want. Mum and dad wouldn’t mind.”

They wouldn’t, either. Mr and Mrs Carmichael were all right, and they didn’t give a shit who Stephen shagged as long as it made him happy. For god’s sake, Mrs C even told him it was nice to see him with friends who liked football as much as Stephen did.

Frank stared at the ceiling.

He could just do that.

It’d be easier.

Just pack up his shit and leave.

But that’d be like giving up and his dad would think he was even more of a fucking pussy than he already did. He didn’t give a fuck what his dad thought of him but he wasn’t going to let the fucking bastard win.

“Nah,” he said, running his fingers through Stephen’s short curls. “I ain’t leavin’. If he don’t want a poof in the flat, he can get another fuckin’ flat.”

Stephen leaned up to kiss him again.

When Stephen’s hand touched his waist, he could have said nah, but he didn’t. He only flinched when Stephen gently ran his hand over Frank’s ribs.

“How bad is it?” Stephen asked between light kisses.

“Y’heard the bitch,” Frank muttered, kneading the back of Stephen’s neck with his fingers. “No exertion.”

Dark eyes met his, hot and fierce as fuck. “Then I’ll just do all the work,” Stephen purred, sliding down the bed, one hand pushing under Frank’s shorts. Frank had to work like fuck to keep his breathing steady when Stephen’s mouth touched him.

No fucking exertion, she said.

Didn’t say nothing about not panting like a fucking bitch in heat when his boyfriend went down on him.

The bastard took his time, an’ all. All tongue and lips and fingers, until Frank had to press his head back against the pillow and his fingers were squeezing so hard at Stephen’s shoulder, he knew he’d be leaving fucking bruises.

When he was done, Stephen kissed his belly lightly. “Better, babes?” he said with that fake innocence that Frank fucking loved about him.

Frank’s chest was aching, but he didn’t give a shit. He tugged on the back of Stephen’s neck, dragging him back up and kissing him. Stephen tasted of sex and mint and Frank wanted all of it. Stephen nibbled on Frank’s bottom lip, then drew back, smiling that smug, little shit-eating grin.

“Better, then.”

“Piss off,” Frank said, hugging the silly twat closer.

Stephen wrapped his arm around Frank’s middle. “What’re you gonna do if they discharge you?” he asked quietly. “What if he comes to get you?”

Frank stared at the ceiling. “I’m goin’ to tell him to go fuck himself,” he said. 

Stephen was quiet for a minute. “What if he starts on you again?” he finally asked.

Frank closed his eyes. “I’ll tell him louder,” he murmured. He pressed his cheek against Stephen’s hair. “He ain’t takin’ you away from me. The cunt’s done enough to fuck up my mum’s life. He’s not fucking mine up too.”

Stephen nodded, snuggling against him like he was a fucking teddy bear.

So what if it was fucking soft?

What he did in his own fucking bed was no one’s business but his own.

He rested his cheek against Stephen’s crown and closed his eyes. He was so fucking tired of all the bullshit. Of pretending. Or lying. Of getting hit because no one else was there to get in the fucking way, then having to pretend it was all fucking right because mum didn’t want the bastard to leave her.

Stephen didn’t say anything. He just lay there in Frank’s arms, like he was safe and happy there, one hand drawing patterns on Grayson’s chest. He was humming, one of the daft tunes from the show about the witches what they saw in the West End.

It was a weird show, but Stephen enjoyed it, and Frank was happy to watch Stephen being happy, but he’d still watched some bits of it. 

There were the two witches, and one of them was called all evil and shit, but she had family shit that people didn’t know about. They just saw her as the bad one. And then there was the bright happy one who was her fucking best mate, and they fucking helped each other.

He curled his fingers against Stephen’s neck. “S’you and I,” he murmured along with Stephen’s humming, “defying gravity…”

Stephen lifted his head, looking at him in surprise. “You were listening?”

Frank shrugged as much as he could. “Didn’t have anythin’ else to do,” he said quietly, and wasn’t the least bit fucking surprised when Stephen started kissing him again. “Anyway,” he added between kisses, “you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it after.”

Stephen beamed at him, and Frank smiled too.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon, Frank thought, as Stephen kissed him again. Bed. Boyfriend. Snogging. Even just cuddling up on the bed was nice. Didn’t feel like anything could get in the way.

Of course, the nurse was a fucking tit.

She didn’t even bother fucking telling him that the doctor said to kick him out.

S’why he had his tongue halfway down Stephen’s throat when his fucking dad walked in to pick him up and take him home.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Stephen was off the bed like he’d been fucking electrocuted.

Frank sat up slowly.

His dad was red in the face and getting redder by the second. S’how Frank always knew when to step in the way. When he went from red to white with fury, that was when he would start swinging his fists.

“You fucking little faggot,” his dad snarled, storming towards him. “D’you think I was fucking stupid? That I’d fall for your story about that little slut you had in here the other day? And he’s a blackie an’ all! You fucking sick pervert.”

Stephen was suddenly in front of him, head up, fists clenched, and Frank felt like his stomach was tied in knots. He was the one meant to be standing there. He was the one who could deal with his dad. Stephen wasn’t meant to get in the way.

“You touch him again,” Stephen hissed like a fucking pissed cat, “and you’ll regret it.”

Frank’s dad looked at him in disgust. “Walk away, you little bender,” he growled, nose to nose with Stephen.

Frank could see Stephen’s shoulders tensing, and the way he was shifting his weight, and Jesus, if Stephen went for his dad, he knew he didn’t have the strength to stop him, and the silly twat would get himself hurt.

He reached out and put his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “Move.”

“No.”

“You heard him,” Frank’s dad snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said, “I have this thing where I can’t hear a word homophobic bastards say.”

Frank saw his dad’s face go white and he grabbed Stephen by both shoulders and shoved him sideways as hard as he fucking could. The punch that should have caught Stephen in the gut came up and glanced off Frank’s shoulder instead. It knocked him back, but he pushed himself upright, off the fucking bed, one arm wrapped across his ribs.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said slowly, staring his father in the eye.

“What? Like the little shit didn’t have it coming.”

Frank’s hands were curling in fists. He could hear Stephen picking himself up, but didn’t look, didn’t take his eyes off his dad. He jerked his hand, trying to get Stephen to stay down, stay put, not get in the way, not get noticed, not get his attention. 

“We’re done here,” he said slowly. “You are going to fucking walk out of that door. You’re going to go home, pack your stuff, and you are going to get out of my fucking home, understand?”

His dad grabbed him by the throat. “What d’you think you’re doing, you little cock?” he demanded, shaking him until Frank’s ribs were fucking screaming.

Frank looked back at him cold as ice. “I’m doing what I should have done fucking years ago,” he snarled. “You’re getting out of my life, and mum’s, and if you don’t, if anything happens to her, I’m going straight down the fucking nick.”

His dad snorted in disbelief. “You’d grass on your old man?”

Frank brought up his hand and jerked his dad’s hand away from his throat. They were the same height now. He’d not noticed that. Dad had always been fucking huge compared to him, but they were the same height now, same size, and he wasn’t going to fucking do anything else to him ever a-fucking-again.

“I’d grass on the cunt who put me in fucking hospital and battered my fucking mum,” he said, slow and quiet. “I’ll tell ‘em every fucking story. I’ll get every fucking x-ray from every fucking time we ended up in A and E. If I have to, I’ll fucking lie to get you put away for as long as fucking possible.”

His dad stared at him. “You lying little shit.”

Frank took a step forward and his dad backed up a step. Easy. Like a fucking coward. Like anyone who picked on smaller people than them. When the kid starts fighting back, that’s when you fucking back off.

“Ain’t lying,” he said, his fist pressed against his ribs. “Ain’t joking. Ain’t pretending.” He took a shallow breath. Fuck, his ribs were hurting. “You come near me or mum or anyone I know again, and I swear to god I’ll get you locked away, and I got friends on the inside, and they fucking love men who smack their wives and kids around.” He leaned a little closer, baring his teeth. “Really, really love ‘em, know what I mean?”

“You ungrateful little cunt,” his father hissed. “You’ll have to watch your back.”

Frank was swaying where he stood and couldn’t have been more relieved when Stephen was suddenly beside him, putting his arm around Frank’s waist.

“No, he won’t,” he said, smooth as silk. “And you know why? Because my mum’s in law, and we’re going to have a writ put in place so that if anything happens to Frank or his mum or anyone they care about, and I mean anything, the first person the police come to will be you.” He gave Frank’s dad his bitchiest look. “Don’t you even try to fuck with my boyfriend, k, babes? You ain’t got a leg to stand on.”

Frank raised his eyebrows at his dad. “What the fuck are you still doing here?” he said quietly. “I told you to get out that fucking door now.”

The fucking coward swore and kicked, but he didn’t do anything else, just turned and walked right out the fucking door without even putting up a fight.

Frank managed to stay standing until the footsteps were fading away, then sagged to his knees, his arm around his chest.

“Babes!”

“Might need to get the nurse,” Frank breathed. Stephen nodded, legging it. 

Frank pressed a hand to the floor. There were black spots on his vision and Christ, it hurt, but he felt like a huge fucking weight was fucking gone off his back. He didn’t know if his dad would do what he was told, and just for a second, he just wanted to enjoy the idea that the son of a bitch was gone. 

Stephen brought the nurses back a few minutes later, and they got Frank back up on the bed, taking off his bandages and checking his ribs. He wasn’t ready for discharge they said. He’d have to stay in a few days longer, they said.

He told them to fuck off and leave him alone.

Stephen was standing at the end of the bed while they re-bandaged him, hands squeezed together, watching anxiously.

When they left, Stephen came and sat back beside him, taking his hand. “You okay, babes?”

Frank stared at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said, then looked at Stephen. “I think yeah.” He squeezed Stephen’s hand tight. “Thanks. For… y’know… bein’ here.”

Stephen lifted Frank’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “You and I,” he sang softly, his voice shaking, “defying gravity.” And he was crying. Not making a sound, but there were fucking big tears running down his cheeks.

Frank uncurled his finger to brush one away. “Nonce.”

Stephen’s other hand touched Frank’s cheek, fingertips coming away wet. “What does that make you?” he said, smiling though his tears.

“Your nonce,” Frank murmured, running his finger down Stephen’s cheek. He tugged on Stephen’s hand and Stephen curled back down beside him, and he wrapped his arms around him. “Y’know what you said?”

“Mm?”

“About your mum? In law?”

Stephen lifted his head with a small smile. “Well, she’s a secretary in a court office,” he said. “Totes law work.”

Frank couldn’t help laughing, then groaned, clutching his ribs. “You’re a fucking twat, Carmichael.”

“You know it, babes.”


End file.
